


Valkyrie

by Maddy02



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Death, Female My Unit | Byleth, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Minor Spoiler for Verdant Wind, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:13:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22970809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maddy02/pseuds/Maddy02
Summary: Professor Byleth teaches Hilda the grim reality of providing support to a battlefield. Neither enjoy the experience, but, in the end, perhaps Hilda will find her motivation.OrMaddy has a moment of insanity and tries to write angst starring Hilda, becauseclearlyshe's the best fit for that.
Relationships: Hilda Valentine Goneril & My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 13
Kudos: 43





	1. The Box

It was summer –one of those days that seem endless. One of those weeks that seem endless, when you’re stuck in the middle of it, equidistant from the weekend at either end. Everyone was flagging as they waited for the afternoon session to end; even Lysithea who was usually so focused, and Claude who always had a comment to make.

The Professor was pacing across the top of the room in front of her desk as she lectured –presumably to keep herself active as she interspersed her speech with questions –undoubtedly to keep her students awake.

“These days, the Gautier cavalry are known for their speed, but at the time messages were being relayed on foot. Leonie, why would you choose to rely on messages relayed by spoken word instead of paper?”

“To prevent interception.”

“Very good. Ignatz, why would you choose parchment over aural relay?”

“O-oh, um, to prevent distortion?”

“Correct. As was the case in the battle of 1005, the message the Margrave Gautier _sent_ was-”

A knock sounded on the classroom door. Three hard pounds that echoed through the room and caused the entire class to come alert.

“Enter!”

The armourer from the marketplace entered and paced up the central aisle to the Professor, presenting her with a box perhaps a little longer than her forearm and no deeper than two hand-spans. The wood was exquisitely lacquered and inlayed with carvings of warrior women astride pegasi. When Lorenz got a look at it, he blanched and turned away, but no-one else reacted. 

The Professor thanked the armourer quietly, ignoring the arch look that spoke of disapproval he shot her, before he departed again. She placed the box on her desk, just _exactly_ where everyone could see it and returned to her lecture.

“The Margrave sent the message “Send reinforcements, we’re going to advance” but does anyone know what the message was that _arrived_ in Fhirdiad?”

Lorenz, recovered from whatever had afflicted him, raised a hand and spoke at the Professor’s quick gesture “Send three-and-four pence, we’re going to a dance.”

The class snickered, but the Professor nodded. “Well done. The story goes that the Queen sent five battalions –and a coterie of ladies-in-waiting to dress them.” She waited a moment for the giggles to subside before continuing “Generally, in a battle that covers the length of a border like that, whether you send instruction in writing or orally will come down to what you have available in the moment, but it pays to be aware of the pitfalls of each. Are there any questions at this time?” 

Claude’s hand shot up faster than a wyvern in flight “What’s in the box, Teach?”

“Any questions on the topic at hand?” Professor Byleth did not roll her eyes –of course she didn’t, but everyone got the impression that she _had_.

“Aw, c’mon Professor” Hilda chimed in from the back “you can’t take mystery deliveries in the middle of class and expect us not to be curious. Are you finally taking my advice and replacing those blocky vambraces with something prettier? Ooh, the silver ones with the lovely scrollwork I suggested?”

“As you’re so enthusiastic about it, Hilda, you may remain behind after class to find out. Now-”

As the Professor continued into the next topic, Claude was very aware that a metaphorical trap had slammed shut mere inches from the tip of his nose. A glance over his shoulder confirmed that Hilda knew it as well as he –she had been caught in the jaws of it. 

***

For all that it had stretched interminably before, the end of the lesson came faster than she was prepared for.

Claude, bless him, tried to linger, to help face whatever danger he’d led her into. He was good like that, at a pinch. She’d probably be able to weasel dinner out of him for the rest of the moon.

But the Professor was prepared. Had just such a task for the House Leader to take care of and suddenly weeks of tactics and strategy lessons made it very clear; this trap had been set for _her_ , and though Claude may have opened the door, she was the only one it would have closed behind.

Well, it couldn’t be anything _too_ bad, Hilda supposed. Not in the classroom in broad daylight. Not in such a pretty box.

The Professor was leaning against the corner of her desk to one side of the box, arms crossed beneath her breasts and looking almost thoughtful in repose. As Hilda approached she looked up and tilted her head towards the box in invitation. “Go ahead, Hilda.”

Hilda’s fingers fanned over the lacquer –this was a work of exquisite craftsmanship. Whatever it was had been bought, likely commissioned, dearly. She tripped the latch and the lid lifted on silent hinges to reveal a knife, a dagger really, resting on a bed of red silk.

“I’ve not touched much on specialised weaponry yet.” Commented the Professor “Rapiers, Maces and the like, but you can consider this an advance lesson for extra credit. What do you make of it, Hilda?”

Hilda wasn’t a collector, like Ferdinand, but she was a bit of an artisan herself, and knew a thing or two about assessing a tool for a job, so this would probably be fairly easy credit. She lifted it delicately out from the silk.

“ _Weeeeeell_ … it’s pointed, so, for stabbing rather than slashing. It’s longer than you’d expect a dagger to be though, both blade and grip -was it measured for someone like Raphael? But it’s so thin, and the cross-guard hardly exists at all! Even **I** can tell that’s not very good for combat, Professor!”

“It’s not a weapon that is used in combat. Well, except in desperation.”

“What’s the point of a weapon that isn’t-” Hilda cut herself off, jaw clicking shut. She knew what this was, looked again at the blade in something approaching horror “Misericorde” she whispered. “A mercy-blade”

“Indeed.” The Professor agreed “There’s a scabbard in there somewhere as well, if you would kindly…” 

Hilda set the knife down as quickly as possible without dropping it and pulled the silk aside to find some of the finest leatherwork she’d ever seen below. It was by parts embossed, gilded, dyed, studded, raised and cut away -stitched so finely the seams were invisible. Patterned with gladiolus interspersed with Pegasus feathers.

Surmounting all was the Crest of Goneril.

It had been made for her.

The Professor’s voice was suddenly behind her, low and insistent in her ear.

“Unless he’s very unlucky, it won’t be Claude. If an enemy decides they want the last heir of Riegan dead, they’ll confirm the kill. As for the rest? Well, the smart money is on Lorenz or Leonie. A horse is a large target after all and even the best trained from Gloucester’s stables can still be spooked. How many riders do you supposed have spent their last hours being slowly crushed by their most loyal steed?” A shiver passed down Hilda’s spine as the Professor’s breath passed across her neck and her voice resumed at the other ear. “Or maybe it will be Marianne? There’s something cruel in white magic, that so few can turn it on themselves, deliberately anyway. But if you leave a cleric wounded badly enough their body will exhaust itself to keep them lingering on the edge, in pain, for _days_ even though they’re already past the point of return. They’re such obvious targets as well, especially those who serve the Knights directly. All that blinding white, just like the robes Marianne received when she was certified a priest.” 

Her instructor stepped back, and Hilda swallowed against the rising knot tightening her throat, but was otherwise completely unable to move.

“What do you think, Hilda? Who will be the first you bring an easy death to?”

“I –I..” Hilda tried and somehow found the resolve to turn around and face the Professor “w-why would…”

“I’ve decided to grant your request, Hilda. You are going to learn to provide support from the sidelines. This weekend you and I are taking on a supplementary mission outside the monastery, you can drop by my room after hours on Friday so we can discuss the logistics. That is all.”

The Professor swept past her frozen form to the desk, clearing up the books and papers she had been referencing during class. Hilda stumbled a pace forward, then another, then-

“Hilda.” She glanced back over her shoulder, the Professor was still focused on her task but tipped her head anyway “Don’t forget the knife.”

Hilda dropped the scabbard and _fled_.

***

When she woke in the morning, the box was sitting on her dresser.


	2. The Battlefield

It wasn’t unusual for Hilda to be the last to slip into class just before the Professor closed the door. It was unusual that she would do so silently, that she would have missed dinner the night before, that she would not meet any of their eyes as they glanced back at her.

They glanced back often. Thankfully the Professor began reviewing for the certification exams that were coming up –bows and magic – so the majority of the class were required to pay attention. Still, the looks continued and increased in frequency as they approached the lunch break.

It arrived, as things tend to do when you’re not looking forward to them, but she was unexpectedly saved;

“Hilda, it has been some time since we took tea together, would you do me the honour?”

Lorenz. Lorenz who had been raised on the rolling fields of Gloucester, so unlike the hills and valleys of Goneril; who had been brought up to know how badly a tumble from a horse’s back could go. Lorenz who had recognised the box. Lorenz who _would not need to ask_.

“Aw, Lorenz that’s so sweet of you, I’d be delighted.” She answered and took his arm, closing them off to any of the classmates who may yet approach.

***

Lorenz poured and Hilda was grateful for his taste; Lorenz could probably even make the bitter Seiros tea palatable, but thankfully he’d chosen something lighter, more comforting.

He spoke lightly about the upcoming certifications. Carefully keeping the conversation going without actually saying anything. It was a talent she had mastered as well, but today he was supplying all of the effort and they both knew it.

He didn’t ask.

But she did.

“Have you ever…?”

Lorenz paused what he was saying, hand lowering from whatever empty point he’d been making to rest gracefully in his lap. “Horses” he admitted “Never people, and yet… it was difficult enough.”

***

A stupider person than Hilda might have attempted to skip out on her meeting with the Professor. Hilda knew that if the Professor wanted to see her it’d happen regardless of whether she turned up when requested or not, and it would only be more work to keep avoiding it. At least if they met when Byleth had asked, she might be willing to listen to the reasons why Hilda was the last person she should take on an auxiliary mission.

The Professor listened. And then slowly and calmly refuted each point, until it would have been open insubordination for Hilda to push back any further. To Ordelia they were to go, and no, Lysithea was not to be told of it by request of her parents and yes, they would be leaving before dawn.

Yes, Hilda was to bring the knife. 

The Gatekeeper saw them off to the rookery with his typical cheer. A swift flight later they arrived at the outpost near the Seven Bridges.

The Seven were nothing compared to the Great Bridge of Myrddin, but equally the tributary that shared it’s name was nothing to the Arimid at this point either. Hrym and Ordelia had historically been allied as well, so there was little need for such guarded structures. The Seven, spaced half a mile apart along a sweeping meander and each barely wide enough for two horses to pass by each other, were overlooked by outposts on the hills on each side of the border, and that was enough.

Except that Hrym as a whole was unhappy with Duke Aegir, and several factions of insurrectionists blamed Ordelia for not providing more aid. Some skirmishes were inevitable.

Hilda stood to one side as the Professor spoke with the commander of the outpost, then followed behind as they made their way out to a courtyard where a flat-bedded wagon was awaiting them. She scrambled up into the seat when the Professor bid her and they were soon rumbling off towards the bridges and the fields beyond. 

Hilda looked back at the empty wagon, a pile of sheets was wedged in one corner but it was otherwise swept clean, and back to the Professor “Don’t we need to get supplies first, if we’re going to be supporting a battle?”

The Professor glanced at her, and the look wasn’t blank, it was sad.

“The battle is already done, Hilda. We’re bringing the soldiers home.”

***

When you weren’t swept up in a tide of adrenaline and exhilaration, grateful for each breath you and your friends took, the remains of a battlefield were a grim and dreary place to be.

Even the battle standards littering the area seemed washed out and grey. As if Hilda herself was the only splash of colour for miles around, though she knew most of them blazoned the colours of the Alliance.

When they’d arrived the Professor had stood on the bench for a long moment, eyes roving over the field as though her tactical mind could deduce the plays that had been made, the gambits that had succeeded and failed, from what was left behind. Perhaps she could, her hands had fisted as she looked at one particular hillock at the far edge of the field where the Leicester banner was flying over a pile of… corpses.

Now, Hilda had made her way there. So far there were thankfully few Ordelian soldiers who hadn’t returned home, but Hilda’s fingers and her mind were numb from lifting even those few into the wagon, folding their hands carefully across their breasts and tucking a sheet gently round them.

She didn’t complain. This was not the sort of thing she _could_ complain about, even though they’d been picking their way across for hours. She could only continue.

Then she turned a soldier over and almost dropped him when he coughed. She fell to her knees immediately, keeping him propped up as he wheezed. Alive! More than half a day had passed since she’d come here, longer still since the battle and he- 

A hand cupped her cheek and pulled her forward where he could see her. She followed it, not because he had some last reserve of strength but because she suddenly had _none._ Eyes some indiscriminate shade of _dark_ (Like the Professor, like Claude, like Lorenz, like Marianne) fixed on hers and he choked, pale and grimacing

“Are you here to take me, pretty Valkyrie?” he gasped, blood flecking his lips. Hilda couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. She nodded. A hum that might in a thousand years have become an affirmative strangled in her throat as it closed around it, invisible hands choking her “Ah…” he managed “That’s good, then… I was… waiting…” she fumbled for the misericorde but couldn’t grasp it. He smiled, just a little, after the next wet gasp of air and there was something about that smile that reminded her of Holst, and oh, her brother was the kind to lead from the front, wasn’t he? This could be his fate, couldn’t it?

His eyes (The Professor’s eyes, Claude’s eyes, Lorenz’s eyes, Marianne’s eyes) glazed over and his last breath rattled out into the gloaming.

Hilda held the hand he’d pressed against her cheek in place and sobbed.


	3. The Bargain

It wasn’t unusual for Hilda to be the last to slip into class just before the Professor closed the door. It was unusual that she would do so silently, that she would not have been seen at all the day before, that she would not meet any of their eyes as they glanced back at her.

Today it was more like open staring. She had been missing, the Professor had been missing, and the Gatekeeper had seen them leave together. Naturally the whole monastery knew.

She watched as Claude coiled like a spring, tighter and tighter as the lesson progressed, ready to burst forward the moment the Professor dismissed them to prod at the mystery. An undisclosed mission with just herself and their precious ‘Teach’? He’d never be able to leave that alone.

She was saved once again, this time by the Professor asking those who had taken certifications that weekend to remain behind and discuss their results. That bought her a day’s reprieve at least. Claude would bother the Professor about it and depending on what she told him either consider it ‘solved’ or start bothering Hilda for details. But that was Future Hilda’s problem.

***

Future Hilda was not impressed with Past Hilda.

On Tuesday she’d managed to start returning their looks and glances with smiles, able to pretend she wasn’t seeing their eyes glaze over as life left them, and they had started to lose interest.

But then on Wednesday Lysithea had given her such a _conscious_ look that she knew her parents must have told her something, and she could feel Claude’s attention on her, even as he faced the board. This time however, she saved herself;

“Lorenz, will you let me return the favour from last week?”

“It will be my pleasure.” He agreed

She fell into her usual pattern purely by habit, so it resulted in Lorenz pouring once again, despite it really being her hosting him. She suspected he didn’t particularly mind doing her bidding when it came to tea.

If the Professor had her way, there wouldn’t be any work on the battlefield for her to talk Lorenz into anyway.

Lorenz noted her drop in mood, but refrained from asking, all gentility and consideration.

She answered the unspoken question anyway;

“I haven’t… but… I should have.”

Lorenz considered that and nodded solemnly.

Her next letter to Holst glowed with his praises, but made no mention of Ordelia.

***

There were always bandits on Magdred Way these days. With Gaspard and the Western Church all but collapsed the region was in chaos. House Charon did what they could, but they didn’t have the same strength of force of Gautier or Fraldarius.

It was almost at the stage where the professors would need a rota for which class’s turn it was to clear them out. They may even have started, actually, as Professor Byleth lead them all out once more towards the thoroughfare.

Or, almost all of them.

Hilda had expected to be sent up front with Raphael and Lorenz, a formation they had practiced before that scattered the enemy allowing Claude and Ignatz to pick them off with Marianne and Lysithea supporting, the Professor and Leonie switching between attack and defence as the fight developed.

But this time the Professor sent Leonie up front and stopped Hilda with a raised palm. She eyed her up and down, noting the absence of the misericorde (in its box, under a stack of fabric in the depths of Hilda’s closet) with a frown.

Without warning she undid the clasp of her belt, looping it quickly around Hilda’s waist so the hilt of the dagger settled comfortably where she could easily draw it.

“If it’s me, I expect you not to hesitate.” She whispered so the others wouldn’t hear, meeting Hilda’s eyes dead on with that stoic expression, as though she were commenting on the weather. Hilda’s eyes widened and she swallowed harshly; was the Professor really expecting –oh Goddess, she _was_ “Stay there until you’re needed, Valkyrie.”

***

The battle went as it always did when the Professor was in command; smoothly.

It did not feel that way from the sidelines.

Without being ordered this way and that across the field, Hilda can only watch. Ignatz is seconds away from being skewered when Lysithea hurls a spell at his assailant. Lorenz is beset on all sides when Claude finds his mark and pins them down in quick succession. The Professor is a juggernaut, but Hilda sees the moment her hand strays to the dagger that is not there, and she has to catch a blow on her vambraces before Raphael can intercept. Hilda can only watch as a thousand little moments of peril play out before her, keeping her heart in her throat.

Hilda would not die for anyone. But she doesn’t want to watch her friends get hurt either.

She does not want to consider what the Professor expects of her. She doesn’t think she will ever be ready for that.

The battle ends and from the view from the sidelines is… lonely. The Professor’s pleased nod is not for her, nor is Claude’s congratulatory speech, praising them all. She can’t make out Lorenz’s remark or Leonie’s retort to him. Raphael doesn’t throw his arm about her shoulder, Ignatz doesn’t awkwardly compliment her, Lysithea doesn’t roll her eyes at her, Marianne doesn’t quietly check her for wounds…

She isn’t _with_ her friends. 

***

Of all things, it’s a rabbit hole that finally breaks her.

On their way back, they must cross the edge of a warren; the ground caves in, just a little, under Leonie’s horse and the mare rears magnificently. Leonie throws herself clear and rolls away unharmed, but in that one moment of horse and rider silhouetted against the sky, Hilda sees a very different future playing out.

Hilda is off the path, on her knees, throwing up behind a tree before she knows it. There is a lot of confusion and kerfuffle behind her and then the Professor is speaking;

“Lead on, Claude, half pace.”

“But, Teach-”

“Now, Claude, we’ll catch up.”

And then hands are pulling her pigtails up off the ground and softly combing leaf mould from the ends, before setting her hair to trail down her back. The Professor eases down to sit beside her, carefully staying on the leeward side of the tree, and hands her a flask.

Hilda rinses her mouth and spits “I can’t do it, Professor. I can’t… _watch_.”

“Praise be,” Byleth answers faintly and Hilda glances over to see a look of relief cross her face “I can’t either.” She says more clearly, taking the flask back and wiping the mouth of it off to take a swallow herself “I always have to step in. I couldn’t have taught you how to cope with it, Hilda –with just watching. I _can_ teach you how to defend yourself, how to stand on the field without fear… I can teach you to stand beside your friends and protect them, so you never have to bring them grace; nor they, you. Will you learn?”

Hilda nods and her teacher climbs back to her feet, offering a hand to pull her up.

There is a gash mark on that blocky vambrace now, Hilda notices. She thinks of pretty scrollwork on silver.

This, somehow, suits the Professor better.

Hilda takes the offered hand.

***

Five-and-a-half years later, Hilda finds a box at the back of her cupboard under a pile of fabric.

They are marching on Fort Merceus, based on a plan Claude had refined from _her_ idea.

The Professor believes in her.

Hilda doesn’t intend to die for anyone, but…

…she will give them her all.


End file.
